


My... Whatever

by Squid_Ink



Category: Naruto
Genre: Art Trade, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 06:26:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4950097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squid_Ink/pseuds/Squid_Ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hashirama is ill, and Madara must take care of him. </p>
<p>Art trade with sinechen of Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My... Whatever

Madara’s eye twitched. It was there again. The bloody offending piece of wood was there again. Nailed haphazardly to the marker before the gate to his house. The marker had _Uchiha_ written on it, in beautiful black hiragana, the clan’s white and red crest above the name. Below it, hanging by a nail was a wooden placard that read _Senju_ , with _that clan’s_ crest. Madara was furious. “I told him,” he said as he yanked the offending piece of wood off, “a thousand times that _we_ are not _living together!_ ”

            Madara marched up the gravel path and entered his house. His house was plain, a few calligraphy scrolls hung on the walls, a few ikebana displays tucked into the corners. Madara noticed that a few woodcarvings Hashirama had made joined the ikebana displays. Madara gnashed his teeth. The man was seriously trying to piss him off. “ _Hashirama!_ ” Madara bellowed as he walked towards the kitchen. He left the bag of groceries on the counter.

            “Shh,” Hashirama hissed, coming out of a room. He was in a faded turquoise bathrobe and on his feet were pink fuzzy slippers. His hair was in disarray, sticking out at odd angles and matted at other parts. He clutched a cup of tea in his hands and his face was a canvas of misery. “Not so loud,” Hashirama whispered. “My head hurts.” He sniffed and pulled out a handkerchief and wiped at his nose, the tip was red and raw.

            “You’re sick.”

            “Thank you for stating the obvious,” Hashirama growled, glaring at Madara slightly. “I’m going back to my office and finishing those reports. Otherwise Tobirama will complain.”

            “No,” Madara said. “You are going to bed.”

            “But I—” Hashirama began to protest but jerked to a stop when Madara jerked his arm to their shared bedroom.

            “ _Bed!_ ” Madara growled. Hashirama wilted and shuffled off to the bedroom. “I’ll deal with Tobirama if he comes by.”

            “Just don’t start a war,” Hashirama grumbled. “I already have a headache, I don’t need another one.”

            “I won’t,” Madara promised. “I can’t swear the same oath for Tobirama though.” 

* * *

 

 

            Madara saw to it that Hashirama was tucked into bed. Kage, the cat, saw fit to play nursemaid to Hashirama by curling up next to his head and purring, loudly. The cat watched as Madara put a cold compress on Hashirama’s forehead before opening the kimono reveal the flesh of Hashirama’s chest. Madara licked his lips.

            “Heheh, I know that look,” Hashirama teased, a twinkle in his eye. Madara tsked before slapping foul smelling chest-rub onto Hashirama’s chest. The Senju yelped. “Ow… I’m ill! Is this how you treat your boyfriend when he’s ill?”

            “You are not my boyfriend!” Madara snarled, Sharingan flashing.

            “Then what am I to you?” Hashirama asked, curious.

            Madara was silent for several long moments, rubbing the gooey paste over Hashirama’s chest. He could’ve stopped, but he liked the feel of Hashirama’s skin beneath his fingertips. “You’re my…” Madara huffed, “whatever.”

            “Your _whatever_?” Hashirama frowned. “I don’t like being a _whatever_ , Madara.”

            “Tough,” Madara said. “That’s what you are to me!” Madara stood up and wiped his hand on Hashirama’s horrible colored robe. “I’m going to make you some miso soup.”

            “Oh, my mother would make me miso when I was sick. She’d put mushrooms and little cubes of tofu in it.”

            “That’s nice,” Madara grumbled. He honestly didn’t care what Hashirama’s mother made for him when he was sick as a boy.

            “Would you put mushrooms in?”

            “Fine,” Madara said.

            “Oh, oh! And little cubes of tofu too? I loved those.”

            Madara looked at Hashirama, who had an idiotic smile on his face. Madara was beginning to wonder if he was faking being ill. “Yes,” Madara sighed wearily before leaving the kitchen.

            He returned with miso soup that had mushrooms and little tofu cubes. If he was a girl he’d put little hot dogs in the soup cut to resemble octopus, but he wasn’t a girl and food looked all the same when it hit the stomach so why bother. He spoon-fed Hashirama, who claimed to be too weak to sit up by himself. “Thank you,” Hashirama said when Madara set the bowl aside and changed the cold compress on his forehead.

            “For what?” Madara asked.

            “For taking care of me when I’m ill,” Hashirama said, a smile on his face. “I appreciate it.”

            Madara tsked and put the compress on Hashirama’s forehead. The Senju smirked before pushing himself up on his elbows and kissing Madara. The Uchiha pulled back and wiped his mouth.

            “What the hell, Hashirama!” Madara shouted, Sharingan in his eyes.

            “What?” Hashirama asked innocently. A beaten puppy look on his face, it didn’t last long for he was soon overcome with a coughing fit. “I just kissed you.”

            “Exactly! And you’re sick! Now, I’m going to catch whatever horrid thing you have! And you know I hate being sick!”

            “Pish-posh, you’re in perfect health, you won’t get sick.” Hashirama gave a dismissive way. “Besides, if you do get sick my brother will take care of us.”

            Madara wasn’t so sure if Tobirama would take care of him. _More like slip me poison in the guise of medicine,_ Madara thought but he wasn’t going to say that to his bo— his _whatever_. “We’ll see,” was all the Uchiha managed to say. “Now get some rest.”

 

* * *

 

            Tobirama hated Hashirama right now. It was all his fault that he had to go get sick and then get Madara sick too. He also hated Mito for taking over the Hokage duties of the village while Hashirama was recovering. Leaving him to play nursemaid to his brother and his brother’s… _whatever_.

            “Oh, Tobirama!” came Madara’s raspy voice, as high pitched as his illness would allow and annoyingly sing-song. “My cough is worse; could you put that chest rub on, please?”

            Tobirama gnashed his teeth. He was going to kill Hashirama, slowly and painfully when this was all over. Slowly and painfully.

**Author's Note:**

> Naruto (c) Masashi Kishimoto
> 
> Madara taking care of Hashirama when he’s sick. ^^   
> Madara truly cares about his dear whatever, doesn’t he? Teehee!   
> What does whatever mean? Well… whatever means that Hashirama and Madara are each other’s boyfriend/lover/best friend/brother/enemy/eternal rival… whatever!  
> I personally can see Madara calling Hashirama that because he doesn’t want to admit that Hashirama is precious to him. XD   
> I greatly appreciate reviews! They can be about the story, critique (constructive) on my craft, what you liked and disliked, or just kind words. These reviews motivate me to write more and also lets me know that you (the dear read) enjoy this as much as I do! 
> 
> Save an author; leave a review!
> 
> -Nemo


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